


In Which the Carnahans Are Always In Trouble

by Lisa_Telramor



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: 5+1 Things, Brother-Sister Relationships, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa_Telramor/pseuds/Lisa_Telramor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Evy saved her brother and one time he proves to be a good sibling after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which the Carnahans Are Always In Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:The Mummy (movies), Evie & Jonathan Carnahan, five times Evie came to Jonathan's rescue and one time he came to hers (or vice versa, if you like)
> 
> Little known fact: The Mummy is one of my favorite movies. It, with Clue, add to my love of really cheesy humor.

“You saw me do my homework,” a twelve year old Jonathan pleaded to his baby sister. She was only a couple years younger really, but she always seemed to know everything and always had her nose in a book. “I just lost it and Papa’s going to be angry at me and you always know the answers anyway.”

 

“No.” Evy flipped a page in her book. It was one of Mama’s romance novels, the ones she kept on her bedroom shelf. It was all quite fun with its heroine going on adventures and falling in love, which sounded like a good deal. The guy always pledged devotion to the heroine and then they could go on adventures together. It was like playtime with your best friend only forever. “Papa says you gotta do your own work.”

 

“But I did do my own work! I just lost it.” Jonathan pouted. “Evy, you watched me do it.”

 

“Do it again.”

 

“But I gotta study for the test, and I can’t study for the test and redo that homework, and I gotta pass the test or Papa will be even more mad.”

 

Evy considered. “Did you even try to find it again?”

 

“I think Max ate it.”

 

Both children frowned. Max was a good dog, but he did tend to eat random things. He’d eaten Evy’s favorite socks just last week. “Are you really going to study?”

 

“Promise.” Jonathan started to look happier as he saw her giving in. “I’ll do your chores tomorrow too.”

 

“Deal.” Evy shut her book. “But you have to sit and study while I do it.”

 

Jonathan swept her into a hug that had her giggling.

 

*

 

“Jonathan!” Evy hissed under her breath as she saw her brother smoothly pocket a packet of cigarettes. At fifteen he wasn’t legally old enough to buy those yet, but Evy had the sinking feeling he would have pocketed them even if he had been of age.

 

“What?” He turned innocent eyes on her, a practiced look. How many times had he done this, snuck off with a pocket of smokes without leaving a penny behind?

 

“You can’t just _steal_ things,” she hissed.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Evy stuck her hand in his jacket pocket and put the packet back on the shelf. Jonathan glared back at her. She stuck her lower lip out in the stubborn pout that Jonathan said always made her look like Mum.

 

“It’s one pack, Evy, god, no one’s going to notice.”

 

Evy winced at hearing him swear—he didn’t in front of Father. “Just leave it. We get allowance tomorrow. Have your older friends buy it.”

 

“But then that would ruin the point,” Jonathan said like he thought she wasn’t very bright. That stung. Even if he did have…questionable friends, he usually wasn’t one of the people looking down on her in a patronizing way and thinking all her reading was quant, but really, wasn’t she trying too hard to understand things that belonged in the realm of men.

 

Evy scowled and stomped away. Let Jonathan get in trouble. And he would get in trouble—the man running the shop had looked their way when Evy put the cigarettes back on the shelf. She went back to looking at the small selection of books that had drawn her into the store, keeping Jonathan in the corner of her vision.

 

Jonathan sent her a glare and pocketed the packet again. The shop owner frowned. Evy felt a jolt of fear roll down her spine. That wasn’t a look of someone who would just yell at a kid for doing something wrong. In fact, he was going for a stick…

 

Jonathan leaned over a barrel of penny candies—probably intending to buy one because he did have pocket change for that and it would make some weird sort of sense if he did buy something small to cover stealing something worth more. Evy bit her lip as the shop owner stomped toward Jonathan. She didn’t approve of stealing like Jonathan was doing. But. But Jonathan was her brother and as stupid as he was about some things, he didn’t deserve to have his arm broken or something over this. Probably. (She did wonder how often he had stolen things because he had pocketed the cigarettes too smoothly for it to be anything but well practiced.)

 

“Jonathan,” she said, loud enough that he would hear her and the shop owner too. “Did you find which type of cigarettes Father prefers?”

 

He looked over his shoulder at her, baffled. “Evy—”

 

She wandered back to the display he’d stolen from and nodded at the packets. “You’re probably right that it’s this kind. I still think it’s a red and gold label not a red and blue one, but Father does try not to smoke them around me.” The shop owner had paused. He looked confused, as confused as Jonathan really, but still angry. Jonathan’s back was to him thankfully, so the owner didn’t get to see his face contorting as he tried to understand what was going on. “I don’t think you’ll be able to buy them and candy with the money he lent you though.”

 

“Evy, what are you…?” Jonathan started only to stop as she pulled the packet from his pocket again and tugged him toward the cash register. He blinked double time as he glimpsed the shop owner pushing the stick back under the counter. “Right, red and blue label. Definitely the right brand,” he blustered as Evy set down the packet.

 

“It’s for our father,” she said seriously. “Normally he’d buy it on his way to work, but he was running late.”

 

The shop owner eyed her. He didn’t believe a word she said, she could tell, but he didn’t know what her angle was. “We don’t sell those to kids.”

 

“He’s almost sixteen,” Evy said, nudging Jonathan. “In two weeks even.” More like four and a half months, but no one needed to know that.

 

“Really,” Jonathan chipped in. “Born April twenty-second.”

 

“Then come back in two weeks.”

 

Evy forced her face into something close to disappointment. “Oh. Father’s not going to be happy.”

 

“He shouldn’t be sending kids. Send his wife next time.” The man at the counter snatched up the cigarettes and waved a hand for them to scram.

 

Beside her, Jonathan was starting to puff up indignantly, probably planning something to talk the man around into actually selling them to him—which they couldn’t afford and didn’t need. Evy stomped on his foot and his mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish while he held in a yelp. Really, most sellers could care less about selling cigarettes to minors, but the man was suspicious enough as it was and big enough that he could probably hurt Jonathan—and now her since she had involved herself—if they got him angry. “We’ll let him know,” Evy said and dragged Jonathan out of the shop.

 

She didn’t let go of his hand for a whole block even though he dug in his heels and twisted his arm around saying her name over and over again as he tried to get her to stop. When she finally did stop, she whirled around and kicked him in the shin.

 

“Ow! Evy, what the hell was that for?!”

 

“Jonathan you idiot! The shop owner was going to beat you for stealing!” She felt tears prick her eyes, upset now that the confrontation was over.

 

Jonathan scowled, rubbing at his shin. “He wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t said anything.”

 

Evy kicked him again, emotions tipping back into anger again because he didn’t understand at all! One day he was going to get himself into a mess that he couldn’t get out of and Evy wouldn’t be there to cover for him! One day it might be a big enough mess that she wouldn’t _want_ to cover for him and that made her feel all horrible inside because she didn’t want Jonathan to be the sort of person she wouldn’t want to help. “Idiot,” she repeated.

 

“Aw, c’mon, Evy, don’t cry…”

 

“One day you’re going to end up in jail and I’m going to be on the other side of the bars wondering how I could have stopped it from happening.”

 

“I’m not…it’s not…” Jonathan’s hand hovered over her shoulder. His face twisted into a grimace. “It’s all fun and games, Evy, I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

 

“You’re wrong,” she said. But she wasn’t sure what she could say to convince him otherwise.

 

*

“Evy, I swear it was only one poker game. I’m done with poker, never play poker again, scout’s honor.”

 

“You were never a scout Jonathan.” Evy rolled her eyes, putting another book on the shelf.

 

“But you know the type of chaps I roll with tend to be, well, high rollers, and I was wondering if—”

 

“No, Jonathan.”

 

“Just a loan,” Jonathan wheedled, following her around. If he was going to be there, he’d make himself useful. Evy pushed an armload of books off onto him. “Oof. It’s not even that much really.”

 

“Your definition of ‘not much’ and mine are very different.”

 

“But Vinny miiiiight be a bit upset at the whole betting more than I own bit.” Jonathan followed along behind her, wavering like the books were three times as heavy as they were. “As in calling a hit upset.”

 

“Jonathan, how much did you bet?!” Evy asked. Every time she thought she’d seen the worst of his scandals, something else popped up.

 

He muttered something.

 

“What?”

 

“A couple grand,” Jonathan said.

 

She took a slow breath and willed patience. She dealt with uppity scholars looking down their noses at her daily. She could handle her own brother. “How much are you short?”

 

“…A little less than a couple grand?”

 

She sighed. Put another book away. Most of her paycheck went to savings anyway. “This is the last time, Jonathan,” she grumbled.

 

“Evy!” Jonathan dumped the books on a table and spun her around, grinning. “You wonderful girl, you. The best sister in the world.”

 

She waited until he had set her down again to poke him in the chest. “But this is a _loan_ , Jonathan, and I expect it repaid in interest.” He schooled his face in proper chastisement. “And truly, I am not covering your gambling debt anymore.

 

“Yes, Mum, last time. Never again. With interest,” he parroted back.

 

Evy rolled her eyes. Her brother never learned.

 

*

 

A woman walking up to Jonathan in a rage wasn’t an odd sight. Nor the fact that they were in public, but when the gun came out, Evy knew Jonathan was going to have some serious explaining to do later.

 

“Aretha, love, fancy seeing you here,” Jonathan tried, hands in the air.

 

“Jonathan Carnahan, you scum faced two timing son of a hog, I am going to kill you.”

 

“For goodness sake, Jonathan, what did you do this time?” Evy muttered.

 

“Ah. Well it’s more of a who than a what in this situation,” he said, not taking his eyes off the gun.

 

Aretha gestured for him to move. To Evy she said, “Hon, best cut ties, cuz he ain’t coming back and ain’t worth it anyway.”

 

Evy didn’t bother protesting that Jonathan was her brother and whatever his faults, she preferred him breathing than not. Aretha didn’t look like the type to listen anyway. Jonathan edged out of his chair as bystanders held very still and muttered under their breaths. No one made any moves to get the police of course.

 

“Keep walking,” Aretha said, tuning Evy out. No one ever took Evy seriously, not even other women. It was getting quite tedious and Jonathan was still being held at gunpoint. She was rather annoyed with him too.

 

Evy gripped the edge of the heavy Egyptology tome she had been reading.

 

“You’re going to keep walking until we reach that alley and then you’re going to—” Aretha pitched forward as Evy slammed the book into the back of her head with all her strength. The gun went off, shattering the glass of a street lamp. Several bystanders screamed. Aretha twitched and Evy hit her again for good measure, like hitting a spider.

 

“Jonathan,” she said calmly plucking the gun from Aretha’s hand. He uncurled from his crouch.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Get the police and then you owe me an explanation.”

 

“Of course, sister dear. …You know she could have shot me, right?” He swallowed. “You thought that through?”

 

“Get the police, Jonathan.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 

*

 

Something exploded behind them. Ahead, Rick was swearing under his breath. He hadn’t started shouting yet, so the situation wasn’t as bad as it could be. Running beside her, Jonathan had his guilty face on.

 

“Jonathan, what did you do!?” Something else exploded and Evy almost stumbled as the slope crumbled under their feet. If Rick wasn’t there—well, if Rick wasn’t there they probably wouldn’t have risked exploring this particular tomb, but if she was going to have a ridiculously handsome and multi-talented husband, he was going to keep being a useful husband. He caught her arm before she could fall and she dragged Jonathan along with them, up, up, up, back toward day light and clear air.

 

“I didn’t do anything!” Jonathan yelped. “I didn’t touch any of the statues or take any of the gold or anything!”

 

“Well neither Rick nor I set this off! What did you _do?_ ”

 

“I was just trying to read the wall!”

 

“Did you touch it?” Rick called over his shoulder. He ducked under a low doorway and they followed. Right, right again, then left—was this the way they’d come from? She couldn’t remember.

 

“Of course not! I learned that lesson in the last tomb!” Only Jonathan could sound righteously indignant over his own mistakes.

 

Evy thwapped him on the shoulder. “Focus! What did the wall say?”

 

“Something about sunrises? How should I know, you know I’m awful with these things, Evy. And the last hieroglyph was worn away anyway.”

  
“Did it mention Ra?”

 

“I don’t know!”

  
Does it really matter what god it said in the hieroglyphs?” Rick asked.

 

“Well, if it mentioned Ra, it might have been a curse of Sekhmet upon someone and considering she was the goddess of fire, war, vengeance, and medicine—”

 

“Medicine. Really.”

 

“It would certainly explain the violent nature of…whatever is going on!” Evy scowled at Rick’s back. Really. After facing a mummy arisen from the dead by a book of spells, she’d think he’d be a bit more open to the possibility of a violent goddess being attached to a curse.

 

“Ok. So if it is Semet—”

 

“Sekhmet.”

 

“Whatever. How do we stop her?”

 

“Actually, it wouldn’t be Sekhmet—this is the wrong dynasty…”

 

“Evy, anything that would help any time now.”

 

The ground shook beneath them and loose scree fell into the upward slope ahead of them, skittering between their feet. Sunrises. Sunrises. “Khepri!”

 

“And?”

 

“Wait, isn’t that the whatchamacallit—the beetle one?” Jonathan said.

 

“Yes, the god of the rising sun—an aspect of Ra. He was seen as a scarab beetle.”

 

Rick swore. “Please don’t tell me that means more of those awful flesh eating beetles.”

 

“Well, I’m not sure. Considering it feels like the tomb is caving in under our feet, that seems rather unlikely. He is also the god of rebirth, so that’s the more likely angle.”

 

“…Did Jonathan just revive someone from the dead then?”

 

“Oh, God, I hope not,” Jonathan said looking pale even in the torchlight.

 

Ahead was the main chamber and they burst into it, still running. The center of the room was cracked and crumbling inwards in a sinkhole. The door they had to go through to leave the tomb was on the other side of the room.

 

“Around the edges?” Evy asked.

 

The stones beneath their feet shifted back two inches. Rick grabbed her arm. “Around the edges.”

 

They ran, staggering as the ground collapsed beneath their feet. Rick dove through the exit and pulled Evy through behind him. Jonathan scrambled toward them. A chunk of floor vanished right before he could set foot on it.

 

“Shit.” He eyed the distance. “If either of you have a rope, now would be a good time to use it!”

 

“Just jump!” Rick yelled.

 

Evy felt her chest go tight as a stone block fell from the ceiling and slammed into the floor behind Jonathan, taking off that part of the floor with it. The block he was on lurched at a downward angle and he waved his arms for balance.

 

“Not liking my chances here!” Jonathan said.

 

“Just go, Jonathan, there’s no time!” Evy held out her hands for him to grab onto.

 

He hesitated and jumped just as the ground gave way beneath him. Evy could tell it wasn’t going to be enough. She lunged forward and her legs banged against the rough stone as Rick grabbed them to keep her from going over. It felt like her arms were going to pop out of their sockets, but she caught Jonathan by the wrists and he gripped on to her tight.

 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he wheezed, dangling.

 

“Dammit.” Rick grunted and Evy felt her legs and belly scrape against the rock as he hauled back to try to pull them up. “You’re crazy, you know that.”

 

“Figured. You’d catch me,” she gasped. She was being pulled in two directions right now, and it hurt to breathe let alone speak. The tomb was still collapsing around them, but the exit seemed more stable than the rest at least. She could see sand sifting down into the sinkhole like some kind of maw from a giant worm. With what strength she could muster, she hauled on Jonathan to try and pull him closer to the edge. His boots scrabbled against the ragged edges where stone blocks had torn each other apart, giving her some relief from his weight. Rick hauled back on her again, and Jonathan’s arms reached the edge. Rick scrambled over her to help pull him the rest of the way up before dragging both of them the last few feet to sunlight. He didn’t stop dragging them until they were a good thirty feet from where the ground was rapidly turning into an indent. With a groan and a rumble, the entrance finally slipped back into the depths.

 

“I thought we were dead,” Jonathan said.

 

“Well.” Evy touched her chin. It was scraped raw along with most of her front. Everything ached. “That was oddly anticlimactic.”

 

“There had better not be something undead waiting to crawl out of that,” Rick said flatly. He sprawled in the sand. “If there is, we’re feeding it Jonathan.”

 

“Rick.”

 

“If there’s an undead monster, he’d be the one to summon it this time.”

 

“I summoned the last undead monster and you didn’t feed me to it.”

 

“Well you’re a lot nicer on the eyes than he is.”

 

Evy laughed. And kept laughing. Adrenaline highs were wonderful things. She loved being alive even if it currently was more painful than it normally was.

 

“We’re not dead,” Jonathan said. “Wonderful.” He half sat up. “Wait, so if there isn’t an undead thing and we didn’t touch any traps, what the hell happened?”

 

“I haven’t the foggiest.” Evy’s giggles wore down. “Whatever you were reading must have been unrelated after all.”

 

“And you were both so keen to blame me.”

 

“You have to admit,” Rick said, “you do draw trouble.”

 

“You two are equally as bad as I am, don’t even deny it.”

 

This set Evy off laughing again. It was wonderful to be alive.

 

***

 

There are moments in Evy’s life when she has regretted Jonathan as a brother. But if she had to settle the scale, it would weigh heavier in gratitude than regret. Jonathan lies, but he was the one to read stories to her in broken Arabic when Mother died. He brought a lot of trouble, but Evy fell into trouble just as often on her own. Where Jonathan went looking for it, Evy had the bad habit of not seeing it coming until she fell headfirst into it.

 

It was Jonathan who cheered her up when people scorned her as a ‘Girton girl,’ and Jonathan who’d bought her first drink in celebration when she finally got a degree of sorts from London University. He’d listened to her rage against the state of scholarship opportunities for women and how her theses were turned away by collegiate scholars who thought themselves better for being born of the male sex. He’d nodded along and said by the end of it, “You’re absolutely right, Evy, and some day you’ll show those sticks in the mud how much they’re missing. You have more brains than a whole room of scholars combined.” Granted, by that point Jonathan had been equally drunk and likely had only understood half of what she was saying. Evy hoarded the support in her scholarly pursuits all the same. Jonathan was a scoundrel, but he’d never been the sort to believe a woman to be inherently less intelligent than he was.

 

He has saved her metaphorically, and like now, quite literally, helping her keep afloat even as her skirt tangles around her legs and threatens to drag her down. _That’s it,_ she thinks, _I am going to be a liberated woman and wear trousers from here on out_ , because while skirts are all well and good, and she admits that they’re less good when adventuring, that they could potentially be the death of her while she is _not_ adventuring is the last straw.

 

“You okay there?” Jonathan asks, voice tense as he treads water.

 

“Peachy,” Evy gasps. If she could, she’d take the skirts off entirely, but they’re attached to the top, and that would require far more effort and flexibility than she can afford while trying to stay afloat to accomplish removing it. “Rick and Alex?”

 

“Still not back so far as I can tell.” The boat had been a good idea in theory. Less so when the mooring line had been cut while Alex and Rick were on shore and would-be boat thieves had tried to kill Evy and Jonathan who had been on board. “Look at it this way,” Jonathan jokes. “For once neither you nor I caused this mess, and there was nothing undead involved at all.”

 

“Very funny.” If they were a bit closer to the docks—well, they wouldn’t be floating so awkwardly would they? They would have already gotten to shore. Jonathan’s arm is firm around her waist and his legs have to be as tired as hers, but he keeps inching them back toward shore.

 

“Almost there,” he grunts, eyes on the shore. “You owe me for my impeccable rescue skills.”

 

Evy laughs and kicks and kicks and kicks, floating as much as she can until Jonathan’s hand catches the edge of the dock. He’s not joking now, and his hand’s shaking with effort as he pulls her until she can grip the edge too. They tread water, getting back their breath and holding onto the dock with both hands.

 

“Well,” Jonathan says, “that wasn’t so bad. We just lost our boat and our belongings and didn’t get to kick the bastards overboard, but hey, we’re alive.”

 

If her hands weren’t occupied, Evy would hug him. She’ll hug him later, once they’re both dry and safe, once they can convince their arms to pull them free of the water and they can meet up with Rick and Alex. They’ll curl up with something warm and Evy will tell the stories her mother used to tell them when they were children to Alex and a translated story for Rick. For now she settles for a shaky smile and a, “Thank you Jonathan.”

 

“Of course. I couldn’t let my sister drown, now could I?”


End file.
